The Lotus of Cerulean
by InkPress
Summary: Young Misty Williams forfeits her position as Gym Leader of Cerulean and embarks on her own journey to reach the Indigo Plateau, motivated by the need to discover just what it means to be a Pokemon Master.
1. The Reverie

**(A/N)** Full disclosure: Misty is not my favorite character. She is, however, the prototype for all the future female companions, and I feel she was somewhat neglected in the show compared to the more progressive treatment given to May/Dawn/maybe-not-so-much Iris/Serena.

For the record, my favorite character-as-a-person is Dawn. She's just so…refreshing. I would hang out with that girl.

My favorite character-as-a-character is May, mainly because she set the precedent for the female companion having her own goals and aspirations. May's also struck me as the best developed character arc, though I'm sure that's debatable.

So why pick Misty?

She's angsty. She's angry. She's headstrong, wilful, compassionate, caring, frustrated, insecure and all over the place emotionally. I feel she deserves a story that lets her explore all that.

Hence,

**_The Lotus of Cerulean_**

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.

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_The Reverie_

Ten more laps.

There's only the stretch in front of me. The water cool on my skin; the breaths in and out of my battered lungs; the impact of my hands and feet as I propel toward the tiled pool wall.

Nine more laps.

My mind wanders. A dark night. A black lake. My pale skin under the moonlight.

I'm ailing of an ache I can't cure. So I replace it with an ache that I can.

I swim harder. Vicious strokes that ruin my form and slow my progress to the wall. But there's a calm in fury, a lack of cluttered thoughts. This visceral moment is pure: just me, just the water, just the burn. There's no weakness, no ache. Not the kind that hurts.

Eight more laps.

The fantasy persists. The scent of the forest. The glitter of the stars. I drown in still water, falling and falling into black and blue. I breathe cold liquid; I fade to black. But hands circle my waist. Something warm lifts me to the moonlight. I break the surface and the hands move to my face, gentle and caring.

The boy has dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile that boils something inside me. He brings me to the shore that gives softer than velvet beneath me, and the night turns instantly warm. He asks if I'm alright.

I tell him I love him.

I give to the ache. To the burn. The weakness. Seven laps to go and I pull myself out of the pool, rummage through my canvas bag and flip through my text messages, emails, updates.

I look for Ash.

He isn't there. Daisy wants to talk. Violet says to text her more. Lily says they'll be back today. Brock wants to visit before I leave. I ignore them all, scrolling down until I find him, already a week old.

_[ Hey Mist!_

_[ …Miss me yet?_

.

.

.

Someone's shouting in the lobby.

When I've put my things away I walk barefoot to the entrance, dragging every step on the tile. I find a boy, barely in his teens, so younger than me by a year or two, wearing clothes too pristine to be anything but a novice trainer. He paces from wall to wall with his hat in his hands; I can't tell whether from nerves or excitement.

He spots me watching him from the doorway and points an accusatory finger.

"I've been waiting forever!" he says. "If you're here you should've said something!"

"I'm not taking challengers," I reply. I turn back into the hall. "Come back next week."

His footsteps patter behind me.

"_Next week?_"

"It's on the door. Didn't you read the sign?"

"But you're here! Why can't you battle me?"

"I will. Next week."

He groans. "You can't make me wait an entire week! It took me forever just to _get_ here!"

"And that's _your_ problem."

"You're a Gym Leader! You _have _to battle me!"

"Read the sign again."

"I didn't see a sign! You're just _scared_!"

Of a brat like this?

"Look, I'm busy today. Just come back-"

"No! You're a Gym Leader, I'm a challenger. If you're a trainer, you'll battle me!"

I stop walking and face him. He stares defiantly back, confident like so many amateurs before him. One amateur in particular.

I open the doors to the pool.

"Fine," I say. "You asked for it."

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.

.

Gym battles in Cerulean are usually accompanied by excessive fanfare. A battle at the Cerulean Gym Complex is equal parts modern commercialism and ancient ritual: challengers are required to face not only the trials of combat, but the lights, cameras and crowds of superstardom. Some flourish under the glare of the spotlight. Others choke.

Today, for the first time, I stand in Cerulean's coliseum alone with my challenger. Today, for the first time, there are no lights, there are no cameras, and there is no crowd.

And the boy's still choking, staring around the colossal gym with a dopey look on his face.

"This will be a one on one battle," I say through the sound-system, breaking him from his stupor. My amplified voice booms and echoes through the stadium. "Usually trainers are required to complete preliminary challenges, but for _you, _I'll make an exception."

He bristles visibly. "Don't do me any favors!" he says.

"It's not a favor. Are you ready?"

He responds with a red flash that resolves into the form of a quadruped _plant_, stumpy and green and carrying a bulb on its back. The tiny bulbasaur paws at its patch of land, growling like a small dog asserting dominance over its domain.

I laugh. Open and loud.

My own pokemon responds to my voice over the speakers, erupting from the depths in an arc of blue-scaled flesh headed by the face of an angry god._ He _bears down on the minuscule adversary and roars.

The boy and his pokemon cower. And rightfully. This is _my_ element; they are intruders in _my_ domain. So I embrace the opportunity to _let go._ Because this is the calm. This is the _moment_, where there is no weakness; where there is no ache. Those things belong to the Misty of seven days past. This moment belongs to me.

One sweep of my leviathan's tail smashes the bulbasaur against the stadium wall and helplessly into the water. It begins to drown immediately, flailing wildly as its trainer dissolves into panic. His orders are indecipherable, and when his pet sinks out of sight he discards them for a high-pitched wailing. It's a few moments before he can gather enough of himself to finally scream forfeit.

From somewhere in the stands I hear Daisy's voice. If I listen closely I can hear her shouting "What the _hell_ is wrong with you!"

Which is a stupid question. Daisy already knows what's wrong with me.

It's why she's here.

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.

.

My sisters drag their train of suitcases down into the foyer as I wait by the door with my one backpack and garment bag. Daisy avoids making eye-contact, but Violet steals a few careful glances at me as she makes her way down the stairs. Lily chatters incessantly from atop her hot-pink luggage, trying to fill the air.

"So I got my nails done, but the colors like, a little off. I might do them over, but it'll take too long, but I guess the train ride's pretty long so I could do it then. Oh, but there's this movie I downloaded for the ride. I guess I can do both, like, how much time-"

I walk out to the waiting cab and throw my things in the trunk. I take my seat in the back and stare out at the grey morass of concrete we call Cerulean.

My older sisters follow after in a parade of color, and I realize how dull I must look in comparison. The taxi driver dotes on them, hurrying to-and-fro with their bags. He's an unmarried, middle-aged man receding into his elder years with less grace than he'd like: exactly the kind of guy to fall for my 'sensational' sisters. Some part of me understands, even sympathizes; another just finds him sad. Some other day I might have mustered the effort, but today I let my sisters' have their way.

He seems particularly attached to Daisy, probably having misinterpreted her natural demeanor for a legitimate interest in him. He asks her to sit up front in the cab, where she would have sat anyway, and tries to engage her in conversations about what he thinks are her interests. To his credit, he shoots with shopping first.

Violet and Lily, meanwhile, engage in a hushed argument just outside the car that ends with Violet pushing Lily into the seat next to me.

"Okay, ready to go!" says Violet, sliding in and closing the door. Lily says nothing, surprisingly. She only crosses her arms and pouts.

It's a short ride, full of conversations I don't care to participate in, all cosmetics and make up and fall collections. Lily and Violet at one point mention a research article submitted by Professor Rowan about the neurological dissimilarities between seaking and goldeen, but they give themselves away when Lily whispers to Violet that she can't read the notes on her hand because they're smudged.

When we've left the taxi driver behind and settled into our seats on the train, I avail myself of the new personal arm-space to check my phone. Not for new mail; I know all of those are meaningless courtesies and consolations from people with names that take effort to connect to faces. For the second time today, I'm searching for Ash.

_I don't miss you. You're just taking too long ]_

_[ Haha. Why don't you give it a shot then?_

My sisters chit-chat over the rhythmic click-clack of the train and it all blends together into static. The day folds into a haze I can't escape from.

_I'd try if they'd let me. Bet I'd beat you, too ]_

_[ Yeah right! I'd be out already, but I'm tracking down a pokemon _

_ What pokemon? ]_

_[ A rhyhorn! _

I finger the empty belt loops of my shorts. It's been a while since I've been without a pokemon. In a way it's liberating, like being naked in the water.

About halfway to our destination a cart comes down the aisle with refreshments. Violet drops a sandwich in my lap, and for the first time looks me in the eyes with her big brown pools of 'are-you-okay'. We stare at each other for a while before I turn back to my phone.

_ Aren't those dangerous? ]_

_[ It's Victory Road! I'd be _disappointed _if it wasn't dangerous! _

But it's always dangerous. He was a savant for finding the razor's edge of every thrill.

It feels like a different life. It's surreal, sitting in a train watching wheat fields roll past, eating ham and swiss sandwiches from a food cart.

_ Just hurry up. Ritchie and that James guy were on the news __yesterday, they're going to catch up to you ]_

_[ Yeah right!_

_[ Just wait Misty, I'll be showing you my new rhyhorn at the Plateau __in no time. Promise!_

He used to say that a lot. He always came through.

_ Alright. If you're not there in a week you're buying me dinner! ]_

_ Hey, did you find your rhyhorn yet ]_

_I'm looking at tickets to the Plateau right now, you better __make it! ]_

_Are you at the Plateau, Ash? ]_

_Did you do something to your phone? ]_

_Respond already ]_

_Please? ]_

_Your Mom's worried about you, are you okay? ]_

"This stop is Pallet Town, Pallet Town... This train will terminate here. Please exit to the doors on your left… This stop is Pallet Town, Pallet Town… This train-"

_Ash? ]_

Violet is lifting me out of my seat. Daisy and Lily are struggling with the suitcases.

"We're here Misty," says Violet. "It's time to go, okay?"

I drift with her down the train, through the doors, and onto the platform. Waiting to receive us is a grey-haired man in brown loafers and a lab coat.

He notices me scrutinizing his clothes and explains: "I came directly from the lab. Wrapping up the experiments took a longer than I expected…"

He puts his arms around me, a few moments longer than would otherwise be appropriate. When we separate I can see his eyes are red.

"I'm sorry Misty," he says. "I thought he would make it."

"So did I, Professor."

But that's not entirely honest.

What's entirely honest is that I still do.


	2. The Passing

**(A/N) **You'll have to forgive me any editing errors: this is the fruit of my exam procrastinations with a little pre-Christmas polish. I'm in desperate need of a Beta.

I'll also admit to you all that this is pretty far outside my wheelhouse. Being in the sciences means I only get to take artistic license with the colors I use in my graphs. Sad thing is they're usually not color-printed.

...Happy Holidays!

_**The Lotus of Cerulean**_

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_._

_._

_The Passing_

I'm waiting stiff on a folding chair alongside some hundred other folding chairs in a field outside Pallet. It's brighter than it should be today. Hotter too, and my dress clings like a second skin in the heat.

Professor Oak looks appropriately miserable up on stage. Not for discomfort with the weather but proper sorrow: it shows on his face and makes me worry I'll draw unfavorable comparison. Even his voice drips misery as he chokes into the microphone: "These last few years have left me confused as to the exact count of my grandchildren…"

He looks two rows behind me at Gary. He looks beside him on the stage at Ash, framed in black.

"I have never been so unhappy to have a point of mystery put to rest…"

People sob. I smooth an imaginary crease in my dress. Daisy beside me jabs me with her elbow.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

Daisy thinks I'm waiting for closure. As if delivering the worst speech of my sixteen years will be anything but embarrassing. Disappointing maybe. A knife in the heart, maybe. She thinks this will fix me.

Breathe in, breathe out. It's time to go. It's not long to the stage, two short moments until I'm staring out at all these people who look sadder than I do. Oak touches my shoulder, communicating an ill-conceived camaraderie.

Delia sobs gently in the front row. I feel my stomach go to acid, and the words I've prepared float into the ether.

I look for new ones. The right ones.

I look at Ash. He's smiling, the stupid grin he always wears. The most natural expression a boy could make.

It's a nice photo. I'm glad they picked it.

"I was Ash's friend," I say. "More than anything else, I was Ash's friend…"

.

.

.

Mourners mill about the Oak estate in lazy circles, pushed and pulled by a tide I can see but not feel. Tired of drifting, I settle into a solitary corner with my food, which with its exuberant color palette looks like the caterer is trying to fool us into thinking we're at a small child's birthday. A few of the passerby offer up pieces of small-talk, with kind of scrunched up 'I'm-so-sorry' expressions, but generally people leave me alone. Probably it's the scowl I can't seem to scrub from my own face that does it.

Gary Oak, immune to my reverse magnetism, intrudes on my corner of solitude without so-much as a greeting. He hands me a flask from the inside of his jacket.

"You mad or something?" he says.

I hand it back to him, but he shakes his head.

"Don't tell me you don't want it."

"I don't want it."

"It's what all this is for."

"That's a stupid thing to say."

"What's stupid is lying about it. But hey, if you wanna talk instead-"

I drink. Long and deep, until my chest burns and my eyes well with tears.

"Happy?" I say.

"Once you've talked to his mom, yeah."

I break into a fit of coughing.

"You've still got people," he says. "I'm not gonna feel sorry for you."

He leaves me with the alcohol, walking deliberately by my sisters huddled a few feet away. They turn quickly away from me when I catch them watching.

It's a short walk across the room to the corner where Delia sits alone. My stomach's acid again, but it's too late to ignore the little voice in my head telling me I'm a coward. Even if that voice is Gary's.

So I sit.

"I'm so sorry," I say. The same hollow words dropping from every mouth here.

She shakes her head and takes my hand.

"He really loved you, Misty," she says. "He really did. I hope you know that."

"I know. I- you know, I'm going to be fine, I just- I wanted-"

"It's okay."

She wraps her arms around me. I feel her breathing against my chest, labored gasps between fits of sobbing.

"It's going to be okay," she says. She cries into my hair.

The acid still eats at me hours later, sitting in the car, my sisters packed in with me and chattering away like nothing's wrong. It's raining, the weather having finally caught up to the mood, and Daisy's driving like an old woman. Violet's beside me this time, while Lily stares out at the clouds with her cheek pressed to the other backseat window.

"This sucks," says Daisy.

"It's a summer shower," Violet says. "It'll be over soon."

"Yeah, well. It still sucks."

Lily groans, her breath fogging up the glass.

"I'm gonna kill you if we miss our train," she says. "This town's _boring_. Like, couldn't they pick- OW!"

Violet's jabbed her in the side. Lily glares at her, but her irritated face breaks into sheepish realization, and for once, nobody talks. There's only the sound of rainfall, which after a few minutes I find agitates me.

"Did Mom cry when Dad left?" I ask.

Violet's face turns to horror. Lily glues her cheek back to the window and pretends to be occupied with something outside.

"I can't remember," I say. "If she cried or not."

Daisy clears her throat. She calls back, "Of course she cried."

"Maybe this isn't the best time to talk about it," says Violet.

"No, it's the perfect time. We never talk about Mom and Dad."

"Misty, we-"

"Did you think I didn't care?"

"You never asked before," Daisy says. "You were too young, anyway."

"It's not that strange," says Violet.

"That I can't remember Dad leaving? I think it's strange."

"You were really young, Misty." Violet touches me on the arm.

"We still should've talked about it."

"You wouldn't have understood anyway," Daisy says. "You were-"

"I wasn't that young! Stop treating me like-"

"You didn't _care!_" shouts Lily, looking me in the face now. "When Dad left, when Mom died, you _didn't care. _So why-"

My ears are ringing. My temples ache.

"Stop the car."

"-are you pretending-"

"Stop the car!"

"-to care now?"

"STOP THE CAR DAISY."

For the first time in my life, Daisy listens. She brakes in the middle of the road and turns around to look at me. But I've already unbuckled my seat belt and thrown open the door, walking furiously back to Pallet in the August rain.

"Misty, come on!"

That's Violet. I shout at her not to follow.

Maybe it's stupid. My t-shirt and shorts soak through in minutes; my make-up runs and my feet squelch every step I take. I must look ridiculous. I pull my shoes and socks off, wipe my face on my arm and continue barefoot for Pallet Town.

But I don't feel ridiculous. Even after an hour spent trudging through the rain I feel angry. Frustrated. Sick to my stomach.

I see Pallet and start to sprint.

My legs burn and my feet bleed and my lungs scream stop. But that's all there is: pure, physical agony. So I run harder. Faster, until I collapse into a dripping, wheezing mess at the threshold to town.

I don't know how long I'm there, gasping on my knees. It feels like hours before I see Gary walk up to me and help me to my feet. He's still in his suit. It feels expensive, soft and smooth against my skin, and I wonder if the rain will ruin it.

"Dumbass," he says. He smells like alcohol when he talks.

"I hate you," I say.

"Okay."

"Why him? Why wasn't it you?"

"I don't know."

"Are you better than he is?"

"No."

"So why not you?!"

"I don't know."

"I wish it had been you."

"Okay."

"I wish it were you."

"I know."

He ushers me through wooden doors and up a flight of stairs. He leads me to a bathroom, where he hands me a towel and says, "Dry off." Then he disappears into the hall.

I towel my hair and wipe away the two ugly streaks running down my face. I sit down on the side of the marble bathtub and wait for Gary, who appears a moment later with a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"I didn't mean it before," I say.

He hands me the clothes.

"Don't worry about it."

"I was just mad."

"I get it, Misty."

He kneels down and says, "Let's see your feet."

He waits, stone-still, until I lift my left foot and present the bleeding underside.

"You really are stupid," he says. "Clean it out. Here…"

He stands up to rummage through a cabinet. He turns back to me with a bottle of liquid soap.

"I'll get some bandages."

And he disappears again.

I take the opportunity to change. The shirt Gary brought is faded pink, and fits tighter than I'm comfortable with. When he returns with the bandages I pull at the shirt and ask, "Whose is this?"

"May's. I'm the runt of the litter too, if you didn't know."

"Did it have to be pink?"

"Yeah, actually. All her old clothes are pink."

Gary wraps my feet after running them under the bath faucet. I can tell he's done it before, probably countless times, and I feel worse about what I said.

"Is it worth it?" I ask.

"What?"

"The injuries. All the time away from home."

"You wouldn't get it."

I might have protested before, but it's begun to dawn on me that he's right. I don't get it.

"Anyway. You can stay in May's old room, down the hall. Gramps won't care."

He hands me a key.

"Front door. Leave whenever."

And again he disappears. Sitting there in his bathroom, I contemplate the absurdity of having Gary Oak playing genie of the lamp. Then I trudge painfully to May's old bedroom, where I lie on the four poster bed and dream of a moonlit lake.

.

.

.

One perk of this extended stay at the Oak estate is having a bathroom all to myself in the morning. I soak in the tub for a full hour with my eyes closed and my fingers rubbing soap over the same length of arm over and over again. My feet are the only inconvenience, which I keep safely dry with my ankles perched on the marble side of the tub.

When I've finally thrown off the temptations of warm water and lavender bath salts I venture down into the dining room to scavenge breakfast. But I'm not the only late-riser today. Gary's still seated at the table, accompanied by a boy and a girl around the same age, all in the process of inhaling a stack of pancakes. Gary spots me and waves me over, still shoveling food in his mouth with his other hand.

"Misty," he says with his mouth full.

Which is his entire introduction.

Gary returns to eating. The other guests turn their attention to me. The boy, who looks like he might have stepped out of a fashion magazine, stands and pulls out a chair beside him.

"I'm James," he says, offering me his hand. I feel callouses on his fingers and see six pokeballs on his belt.

He motions toward the last guest, who ignores me. "That's Mina," he says.

"It's nice to meet you both," I say.

"You too," says James. He looks at Mina and adds, "We were just talking about Ash."

"Oh."

"Just, with the funeral… We've been friends since we were kids. We're the reason he got stuck with pikachu."

James hands me a plate of pancakes.

"Stuck with?" I ask.

"We took the others. Gary, Mina and I. The Professor wanted him to wait for the next shipment, but Ash said he couldn't afford to give us a head start. Seems stupid now, huh?"

James stabs a pancake.

"Stop talking about it," Mina says. "I'm sick of hearing it."

"No, we should be proud he-"

"What? Made it so far? He would've gotten to the Plateau if it wasn't for _her_."

Mina glares at me. I blink at the accusation, forkful of pancake halfway to my mouth.

"What?"

"It's _your_ fault he died. _You're_ the reason he was in there so long, and you don't even _care_."

"That's- He was looking for-"

Mina stands abruptly and sets her plate clattering, her face flush and her fingers curled into trembling fists.

"You're Cerulean's Leader, right?"

She rips something off the inside of her jacket and throws it on the table between us. I catch it as it bounces off the hard surface toward me.

"I challenge you to a gym battle."

The Cascade Badge glitters in my hand. I look from the badge to the girl, whose face is like lightning.

"Calm down," says James.

"I'm not going to battle you," I tell her.

"No. You are."

She produces a silver ring from her pocket. She holds it in front of me and says, "Ash lied. _This_ is what he was looking for."

She closes her fingers around the ring. She hesitates.

"He was going to give it to you," she says. "…And I will too. If you beat me."

I look at Gary, who's looking at Mina, who's looking at me.

"Explain," I say.

"It's Delia's ring," says Gary. "She gave it to Ash's father."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It was a charm to protect him on the Road. He threw it away in the caves."

"And Ash went looking for it," says Mina. "For _you. _You don't even know what it means."

She's crying now, still glaring at me.

"I took that badge from your whore sister. She didn't care either. But if it's anything more than garbage to you-"

She sets the ring down on the table.

"-If Ash was anything more than garbage to you. _You'll battle me_."

I've heard these words before. But Mina's face is like no challenger before her. She's the same breed as Gary and Ash. The same recklessness. The same confidence. The knowledge the you are what you are. That I am what I am.

What am I?

I stand too, and relish that I'm a full inch taller than her.

"I'll battle you."

Because I know what I'm not.

I'm not a coward.


End file.
